Chapter 169: Hollow Road
The rhythmic pounding never stopped.
Even after Atlas left the lights of Millhome behind, the dull metallic echoes continued drifting through the darkness beneath the earth. Every strike carried faintly along the ancient stone corridors, followed by another and another until the separate sounds merged into a relentless heartbeat beneath the mountain itself.
Nobody spoke.
Every member of the assault force listened.
Hundreds of impacts.
Hundreds of workers.
Hundreds of people.
Emil’s story had not been an exaggeration.
Marcus walked near the center of the formation while Tomas commanded the point element. Two engineers followed directly behind with cable reels and portable relay stations strapped to reinforced packs. Every fifty meters they stopped long enough to secure another repeater against the wall, ensuring Millhome remained connected to the expedition. The system had already proven invaluable during the first rescue, and now it formed the expedition’s lifeline into territory no living member of the Underroad had successfully explored.
The Hollow Road deserved its name.
Unlike the King’s Road, whose broad avenues still hinted at commerce and travel, this passage felt military in purpose. The ceiling arched nearly ten meters overhead, supported by enormous stone ribs carved directly into the surrounding bedrock. Massive drainage channels lined both sides, while evenly spaced alcoves interrupted the walls every twenty meters. Some still contained rusted weapon racks. Others held broken benches or shattered ceramic containers that had long since crumbled into dust.
Marcus swept his flashlight across faded carvings near one of the alcoves.
Rows of armored soldiers.
Tower shields.
Long spears.
Behind them stood massive gates reaching toward the ceiling.
The figures faced downward rather than upward.
Toward something beneath them.
"They were defending against attacks from below," Tomas observed.
Selvar nodded slowly.
"The old stories always said the ancient kingdom fought monsters."
"They weren’t stories," Marcus replied quietly.
The realization settled over everyone.
Thousands of years earlier, another civilization had stood exactly where Atlas stood now. They had fortified these tunnels, stationed soldiers here, and apparently fought an enemy emerging from deeper beneath the earth.
And they had lost.
The deeper Atlas advanced, the more evidence appeared.
Broken barricades blocked abandoned intersections.
Collapsed watchrooms overlooked narrow choke points.
Arrow slits had been carved into defensive walls that now lay shattered across the floor.
Several passages had been deliberately collapsed from above, burying entire sections beneath tons of rock.
This had never been a simple tunnel network.
It had been a defensive frontier.
Rolf stopped beside a cracked stone monument nearly twice his height.
"What does this say?"
Selvar brushed centuries of dust away with a gloved hand before squinting at the ancient lettering.
"I... I only recognize pieces."
"What pieces?"
"’...Fourth Legion...’"
He traced another line.
"’...hold until...’"
Further down, another phrase emerged beneath the dirt.
"’...seal the lower gates...’"
Nobody needed the missing words.
The message painted its own picture.
Marcus imagined exhausted soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder across the Hollow Road while engineers desperately collapsed tunnels behind them. Officers shouting retreat orders. Civilians fleeing upward toward the surface. Gates closing forever beneath the kingdom.
Perhaps they had believed sealing the roads would end the nightmare.
Instead...
It had merely delayed it.
The expedition continued.
Nearly forty minutes later, Tomas suddenly raised a clenched fist.
The entire column stopped instantly.
Marcus moved forward.
"What is it?"
Tomas pointed toward the floor.
The ancient paving stones changed color several meters ahead. Instead of worn gray granite, a rectangular section appeared noticeably smoother.
Sergeant Cole crouched beside it.
"Trap."
"You sure?"
The engineer nodded.
"The stones were replaced."
He produced a collapsible inspection rod from his pack and carefully pressed against one corner.
Nothing happened.
He shifted his angle.
Pressed again.
The center stone sank less than an inch.
A violent metallic snap echoed overhead.
Everyone looked up.
A thick iron spear shot downward from a hidden opening in the ceiling, smashing into the floor with enough force to shatter stone before slowly retracting upward through another concealed mechanism.
Silence followed.
Rolf blinked.
"I suddenly appreciate modern landmines."
Cole ignored him while examining the mechanism.
"The counterweights still function."
Marcus looked toward the darkness ahead.
"How old is this?"
Selvar answered quietly.
"No one knows."
"Yet it still works."
Cole nodded.
"The craftsmanship is extraordinary."
He looked almost offended.
"I don’t understand how."
Neither did Marcus.
Wood should have rotted.
Ropes should have disintegrated.
Metal should have seized centuries ago.
Yet the trap remained operational after what could easily have been a thousand years.
Magic.
There was no avoiding the conclusion anymore.
Whether the mechanism itself used enchantment or some forgotten engineering principle, it still defended the Hollow Road long after the civilization that built it had disappeared.
Cole marked the pressure plate with bright paint before leading everyone safely around it.
Unfortunately...
It wasn’t the only one.
During the next kilometer they discovered five additional traps.
Falling stone blocks.
Hidden spear launchers.
Pivoting floor sections concealing deep pits.
One chamber even contained remnants of an ancient flame projector whose fuel source had thankfully failed centuries earlier.
Each obstacle slowed the expedition.
Each obstacle reinforced the same conclusion.
The old kingdom had expected something terrible to come this way.
Marcus found himself wondering how many defenders had died activating these very traps while retreating.
Eventually the corridor widened into another checkpoint.
Unlike previous positions, this one remained remarkably intact.
Twin towers overlooked the passage from elevated platforms connected by a heavy stone bridge. Thick defensive walls narrowed the road to less than five meters before opening again beyond massive bronze doors frozen permanently ajar.
The Atlas team spread cautiously through the position.
No Collectors.
No recent movement.
Only silence.
Tomas climbed the western tower while Marcus inspected the gate itself.
Deep gouges covered the bronze.
Not scratches.
Impact marks.
Something enormous had battered against these doors repeatedly until one hinge finally failed.
Marcus measured one indentation with his hand.
Almost half a meter across.
Whatever struck these gates outweighed an armored truck.
Tomas called from above.
"Marcus!"
He climbed the worn staircase two steps at a time until reaching the tower platform.
Tomas pointed through a narrow observation opening facing the road below.
The view extended nearly two hundred meters.
Bodies.
Dozens of them.
Ancient skeletons lay scattered across the Hollow Road exactly where they had fallen.
Some still wore rusted armor.
Others remained seated against barricades with spears clutched in skeletal hands.
Several enormous skeletons lay among them.
Collector remains.
Marcus descended carefully into the battlefield.
Dust covered everything.
Armor had rusted beyond recognition.
Weapons crumbled at the slightest touch.
Yet the final positions remained frozen.
One soldier still knelt behind a shield.
Another reached toward a fallen comrade.
A third lay across the threshold itself as though attempting to block the enemy with his own body after his weapon broke.
Selvar removed his helmet.
"They never buried them."
"No."
Marcus looked across the silent battlefield.
"They couldn’t."
One of the engineers discovered a preserved banner trapped beneath fallen stones.
Most of the fabric had rotted away, but fragments of crimson cloth still clung to the staff.
An unfamiliar golden emblem decorated the surviving section.
Rolf studied it.
"Guess this was their last stand."
Marcus nodded slowly.
"It looks like it."
Nobody spoke for several minutes.
Even Atlas soldiers accustomed to modern warfare felt the weight of the place.
These people had stood here knowing retreat was impossible.
Knowing the gates behind them represented the final route toward the surface.
And still...
They had fought.
Tomas finally broke the silence.
"We should move."
Marcus agreed.
The dead deserved respect.
But they had another battlefield waiting ahead.
The expedition resumed beyond the checkpoint.
Collector activity increased almost immediately.
Fresh shell fragments appeared regularly now.
Droppings.
Scratches.
Recently disturbed dust.
Several side tunnels showed unmistakable signs of heavy traffic.
The enemy lived nearby.
Forty minutes later another relay station went online.
Communication with Millhome remained stable despite occasional interference.
Captain Garran reported no surface incidents.
Cedric’s laborers had completed additional fortifications around both entrances.
Resupply operations continued smoothly.
Underground Base One remained secure.
Marcus acknowledged the report before switching frequencies.
"Deep Lantern continuing."
"Roger."
The radio clicked silent.
The pounding grew louder.
No longer distant.
Distinct impacts echoed separately now.
Metal against stone.
Metal against metal.
Hundreds working together.
Rolf frowned.
"They’re closer."
Marcus checked the map.
"We should be approaching the city perimeter."
Selvar swallowed visibly.
"I’ve never been this far."
"You said your expedition reached the outer cavern."
"We turned back before entering."
"So everything ahead..."
"...is unknown."
That realization spread through the formation.
No guide.
No maps.
No history beyond legends.
Atlas would become the first organized force to enter the buried city since the ancient kingdom disappeared.
The corridor curved gradually left.
Fresh air drifted through the passage.
Not surface air.
Warmer.
Carrying unfamiliar smells.
Smoke.
Wet stone.
Mold.
Something organic.
Something alive.
The pounding became unmistakable now.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Marcus extinguished his flashlight.
Instantly everyone behind him did the same.
Darkness swallowed the formation.
Only faint emergency markers remained visible along helmets and equipment.
Far ahead...
A soft amber glow illuminated the ceiling around the next bend.
Not electric light.
Fire.
Many fires.
Marcus lowered himself beside the wall.
Hand signals passed silently down the column.
Slow advance.
No talking.
Weapons ready.
One careful step at a time, the point team crept toward the bend.
The corridor widened.
Then widened again.
Finally...
It opened completely.
Marcus reached the edge first.
Then froze.
The world simply...
ended.
Beyond the final stone archway stretched an underground city so vast that his flashlight could never have revealed its true size.
Buildings rose from the cavern floor in orderly districts.
Massive avenues intersected between crumbling towers.
Stone bridges crossed canals disappearing into darkness.
Broken statues overlooked plazas larger than football fields.
Far above...
The cavern ceiling vanished beyond the reach of flickering firelight.
Hundreds.
No...
Thousands...
of torches burned throughout the ruins.
The pounding came from everywhere.
Metal striking black stone.
Pickaxes rising and falling.
Chains rattling.
Orders delivered through relentless clicking.
Marcus slowly raised his binoculars.
His breathing stopped.
People.
There were people everywhere.
Hundreds of prisoners worked beneath armed Collector overseers.
Long lines of chained captives hauled carts through ancient streets.
Others swung picks against enormous black structures rising from the city’s center.
Some collapsed from exhaustion.
The Collectors dragged them aside.
Fresh workers immediately took their places.
The scale dwarfed everything Emil had described.
This wasn’t a holding area.
It wasn’t a nest.
It was an entire underground labor camp built inside the ruins of a forgotten civilization.
Marcus lowered the binoculars.
Nobody behind him had spoken.
They didn’t need to.
Every Atlas soldier understood the same thing.
A frontal assault here would not rescue anyone.
It would condemn hundreds of innocent people caught between rifle fire and creatures that vastly outnumbered them.
Marcus looked once more through the binoculars.
Then something familiar caught his eye.
Six prisoners.
Still wearing surface clothing.
Working together beneath heavy chains.
Alive.
The remaining civilians.
Exactly where Emil said they would be.
Marcus quietly lowered the binoculars before whispering the only order that made sense.
"No one fires."
Behind him, twenty-three Atlas soldiers silently stared at the greatest battlefield they had ever seen.
The rescue mission had just become something far larger than anyone had imagined.